Dr. Chase Hudson (The Surrogate Book 2) (3 page)

I sighed, walking toward the bathroom and turning the
water on cold.

Tuesday.

I had until then to get my fucking head in the game.

A part of me was pretty sure that would be nowhere near
enough time.

First Session

The office was cleared for surrogate clients. First,
because they generally took place later at night. Mostly, though, it
was because it removed the strong sense of discomfort the client got
at knowing that other people knew why they were there, what was going
on beyond the office doors.

I was standing behind the desk looking over the next
day's schedule when the door opened, bringing with it a wave of cold
air. I felt my lips turning upward at the sight of her. She was
dressed in black jeans, a black tank top, heels, and a wine colored
sweater left open in the front. It was casual, but it was put
together. Almost flirtatious. I had a distinct feeling it wasn't an
outfit she had picked out herself.

“Ava,” I breathed out her name.

“Dr. Hudson,” she shot back, moving away
from the door though she looked like she was ready to bolt.

“Chase,” I corrected, walking out from
behind the desk and making my way past her, toward the door. She
stiffened when I got close, but didn't flinch away. I turned the lock
on the door and moved to face her and said what was on my mind. “You
look nice.”

She almost immediately shook her head. “Oh, um...
thanks,” she fumbled, not holding my gaze.

My hand rose, pressing into her lower back. It was
partly to steer her into my office, but it was also because I wanted
to see how she reacted to the contact. She stiffened, but she didn't
even attempt to move away. That was good. “You're welcome. How
was your weekend?”

A look flashed over her face as she recalled the
events, letting me know it wasn't exactly a great weekend for her.
“Uneventful,” she settled on, moving toward the alcove we
had sat in during the introductory session.

“Ava,” I said, holding an arm out, making
it clear I wanted her to move toward me. “This way.” She
paused, but she walked toward me. I reached into the bookshelf,
pulled a lever, and the hidden door clicked open. I kept my head
turned toward her, watching for her reaction. I wasn't disappointed.

“Seriously?” she asked, her eyes wide, her
brows raised. She looked dangerously close to laughing and I found
myself wanting to know what that sounded like.

“Yup,” I smiled, pressing into her lower
back until she stepped through. I watched as her eyes skimmed the
room. She took in the seating area to the side, the stereo, the
decanters of liquor, the bed. They widened a bit when they landed
there. “Why don't you find some music to put on?” I
suggested, waving toward the stereo, trying to get her attention away
from the bed.

I offered her a
drink and she accepted red wine, putting on a coffeehouse playlist.
It was
the least likely to be
confused with something sexual on the list of choices.

“How about we go sit down?” I suggested,
waving a hand toward the sectional in the corner. I turned my back on
her, giving her a minute to settle in as I turned on the fireplace.

I turned to find she had seated herself as far away
from where I had set my wineglass down as possible. I drank my wine,
giving her a second, then sat down near her, my feet touching hers
but my hips pivoted away. My arm was thrown across the back cushions,
but not touching her. “Nervous?” I asked, my free hand
moving to land on her knee.

Her head bobbed slightly. “Yes.”

“What exactly are you nervous about? Me touching
you?” She nodded, looking down at my hand. “I'm touching
you right now. Do you want me to stop?” I asked, hoping she
wasn't already at the point of retreat as I squeezed her knee softly.

She paused, mulling it over, before deciding, “No.”

“Good. Because I don't want to stop.”

Hell, I didn't want to stop until I was buried deep
inside her, my teeth nipping into her lower lip as I swallowed her
moans.

“Wh...” she started, then changed her mind.
“Okay.”

My hand moved down from her knee, stroking down the
font of her leg, then moving back up. It was chaste, but I could tell
by the jolt through her body that she wasn't seeing it that way.

Her wineglass was empty and I took it, getting rid of
it, before moving back to her, placing my hand on the knee further
from me, caging her in.

That was when she started freaking out.

Her eyes went wide, her breath got caught in her chest,
her body went ramrod straight.

“Ava,” I broke in and her head snapped in
my direction. “Breathe,” I reminded her. She sucked in a
breath and exhaled it slowly. “Good. Now, tell me why you're
anxious.”

“I feel trapped.”

“Okay.” I looked to where my arm was
blocking her in then squeezed her knee. “Are you really
trapped?” I asked, knowing that it didn't matter if she
actually was or wasn't. That wasn't how anxiety worked. It couldn't
be reasoned with.

“No.”

“Can you leave at any time?”

“Yes.”

I went for the jugular. “Do you think I would be
mad or disappointed if you needed to get up and walk away?”
There was the flash of panic, the proof of my guess.

Her eyes went up to mine for a second, considering me.
“No.”

“Okay so why don't we stop thinking about that?”
I suggested, my hand going down the front of her leg, moving around
the calf, then settling back onto her knee. “Do you like this?”
I asked, my fingers brushing up her thigh.

Her eyes fell from mine but not before I saw the spark
there. It was just a fizzle really, but it was there. Desire.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Good. I like that. I like touching you,” I
admitted, letting the arm that was draped across the back of the
couch slip downward, settling behind her back but not wrapping around
her, not wanting to actually trap her. She straightened slightly and
I scooted my hips closer so we were side by side. “And I'm not
just saying that because it's my job.”

But I fucking should have been. Not even halfway into
our first session and I was blurring lines. Not good. I needed to
rein it in.

Then, “Really?” she asked, sounding
almost... hopeful as a bright red blush crept up into her cheeks.

Shit.

My hand moved from her leg to start stroking across her
jaw then gently grabbing her chin, forcing her to look at me. “Babe
if I saw you in a bar, I'd have taken you home in a heartbeat.”
It was the truth. I saw her, looking all gorgeous and uncertain
sitting in some bar, I'd have made a beeline for her. It was as
simple as that.

Her gaze fell from mine immediately, looking like she
was struggling with whether to put her faith to rest in my words or
not. The silence hung, my fingers still holding her chin, waiting for
her gaze to rise again. When her brown eyes found mine, I asked, “Do
you believe me?”

“Yes,” she decided, her voice sure.

I felt myself nod, my hand still holding her face,
leaning in slightly. “I would have walked over to you, gotten
close, whispered in your ear, told you how fucking gorgeous you
are...” Her eyes widened, but I plowed on, digging myself in
further. “And then I would bring you back to my apartment and
as soon as you stepped inside, I would push you up hard against the
door and crush my lips to yours.” My thumb moved out, stroking
across the lips in question, my eyes watching the motion. Her lips
parted slightly. Her body shifted as she pressed her thighs closer
together.
Fuck me.
“Does that sound good?” I
asked, my thumb making another swipe, slipping into the crease
slightly.

“Y... yes,” she admitted, swallowing hard.

“Are you turned on, Ava?” I asked, knowing
my answer, but needing to hear her say it.

There was barely even a pause before, “Yes.”

I felt the growl in the back of my throat, more turned
on than I thought I would be. I was more turned on than I ever been
in a professional setting. I had barely fucking touched her. “I
like that,” I admitted, my hand sliding from her chin, across
her jaw, then down her neck. She shivered.
Fucking shivered.
I
felt myself chuckle slightly. “You're so sensitive.”

“Not usually,” she said, forcing the words
out like they cost her to admit.

Fuck me. Not usually. That meant it was something
special with me. My head tilted toward hers, my nose grazing her jaw.
“Just for me then?” I asked and her head fell slightly
backward, unconsciously giving me more access.

“I guess,” she whispered.

They shouldn't have, but those words felt good. Way too
good.

“Do you want me to kiss you here?” I asked,
my nose brushing under her ear.

Another barely-there pause. “Yes.”

“Tell me,” I demanded, needing to hear her
say it. Not as her doctor or surrogate. Just as a man. I needed to
hear it.

There was another body shiver. “Tell you what?”
she hedged, knowing damn well what I wanted.

“Tell me you want me to kiss your neck,” I
clarified.

And that's when she tensed up. Her body went rigid. Her
breathing got too fast. She was anxious. “Ava,” I
started, tilting my head up to look at her. She swallowed hard as she
looked down at me and shook her head. “No you don't want me to?
Or no you can't ask?” I pressed, trying to force back the
desire and be there for what she needed. But, fuck, I was praying it
wasn't the former.

“I can't ask,” she said, her voice a
croaking sound.

I fought back the surge of pleasure at that admission
and shrugged. “Okay. We can work on the verbal stuff,” I
told her neck, turning my attention back to it. “But first...
this...”

I let my lips press in softly, feeling her body jolt,
seeing her hand slam down on her leg. Surprised? Sure. But more so,
excited. She was responding. My lips pressed in harder, a hint of
teeth against her skin, before my tongue moved outward and traced
down her neck. My hand on the side of her neck curled in slightly as
her head tilted, giving me more access. I let my mouth move down
toward her collarbone before I forced myself to stop. To pull back.
It was too much, too fast. If I pushed, she would dart. And she
wouldn't come back.

I lifted my head and let my hands float back into her
soft hair. “Open your eyes.” She struggled in a breath,
forcing her eyes open, and slowly lifted her gaze to mine. “Good
girl,” I murmured, inwardly wincing. She wasn't a random chick
at a bar. I couldn't fucking talk to her like that. God damn it. “Did
you enjoy that?” I asked, forcing my tone to be normal. Or as
close to normal as possible when all I wanted to do was run my lips
and tongue over every inch of her until she was moaning my name.

“Yes,” she said softly, shaking me out of
my fantasy.

“What do you want now?” I asked, trying to
veer us back into the session, trying to get her more comfortable
with talking to me.

Her eyes went huge, looking panicked.

“Let's try this again,” I said, smiling a
little. “Do you want me to keep kissing your neck?” I
asked, leaning down and placing a feather-light kiss to her neck. As
light a touch as it was, it sent a jolt through her body. “Or
do you want to try something else for a while?”

“Something else,” she said, her words
barely audible.

And fuck, that was what I wanted to hear.

“Okay. How about you turn around?” I
suggested.

“Why?” she asked immediately, her body
going stiff.

Interesting.

She was calmer, less anxious when I was closer to her,
when I was touching her. Free of that, her anxiety settled right back
in.

Which went completely against everything she had told
me in the introductory meeting. And what I read in her questionnaire.

Very interesting.

“Because,” I said, my hand moving to stroke
down her arm, “I am going to give you a massage.”

“Oh,” she said, her gaze moving from me and
toward the bed.

“Do you think you would like that?” I asked
and felt her shrug. “Okay. Let's find out then,” I said,
moving away from her so she had room to turn her back to me.

There was the briefest of pauses before she turned. Not
wanting to give her any time to get anxious, my hands went right to
her shoulders, all twisted into knots. Within seconds, Ava was gone.
Off somewhere else. Lost in her own head. It was in the stiffness in
her body and the way she didn't react whatsoever to my hands on her.
“Where are you? You're not with me.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled. Knee-jerk, like it
tripped off her tongue constantly.

“Don't be sorry. Tell me what you were thinking
about.”

“My roommate.”

“Why?”

“He's a massage therapist.”